Chapter 3 - The King’s Safehouse
Ten minutes later, we were tore through the rain-slicked streets of Seattle in the back of a bulletproof Black SUV. Dante sat beside me, pale as a ghost, holding a pressure dressing over his torn surgical wound with one hand while holding a heavy semi-automatic pistol in the other.
His top enforcer, Marcus—a man built like a brick vault—drove at terrifying speeds, running red lights while monitoring scanner frequencies.
“We secured the girl, Boss,” Marcus reported, glaring into the rearview mirror. “Your friend Kate is resting at a safe house in Portland. The kid is in the third-row seat.”
I whipped around. Wrapped in her favorite pink unicorn blanket, holding a worn teddy bear, Mia was sleeping peacefully in the very back row, completely oblivious to the war raging around her.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I unbuckled and climbed into the back, gathering my daughter into my arms. She stirred, rubbing her sleepy eyes—eyes that were the exact carbon copy of the mafia prince sitting five feet away.
“Mommy?” Mia mumbled, her voice tiny in the dark SUV. “Why are we in a big car? Is Moonlight coming too?”
“Moonlight is waiting for us, baby,” I choked out, kissing her soft hair.
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From the front seat, Dante turned his head. For the first time, the ruthless mob boss of the Pacific Northwest looked terrified. He stared at the little girl who possessed his golden-flecked brown eyes, his hand trembling as he reached toward her, stopping inches short of touching her cheek, afraid his bloodied fingers would stain her innocence.
“Claire,” Dante whispered, his voice fracturing into pure grief. “What have I done?”
